Dusk
by bodiechan
Summary: All Nicky wants is to spend a little more time with his buddy Rod, but Rod wants something more.


The sky was vivid orange, an orange so brilliant that it appeared all heaven was going up in flames. Fluffy pink clouds floated lazily across the wide expanse of sky, past the New York skyline and the now blood-red sun. On the ground, cars whizzed by, only a dot to someone looking out their window, the blotches that were pedestrians even smaller.

Dusk.

In one apartment, a man lounged purposelessly in an armchair, snoring softly. The cheap, bad-quality TV in front of him was blaring a football game as loud as its speakers would let it, but the man slept on. Up-close, his hair was ragged and unruly, as close to pitch-black as hair can be. His round face was a pale green, in violent contrast with his lively orange nose. He was wearing a faded pair of blue jeans over legs that twitched unknowingly every few seconds, and a grimy, gray sweatshirt that was being slowly covered with a trail of spittle that drifted down his stubbly chin from his open, lolling mouth.

Suddenly the door slammed open, and then closed again with a loud bang, as another man strode into the room in a very bad temper. Everything about him clashed visibly with the man sleeping on the couch. He was tall and thin, his posture noticeably straight and stiff. His head was topped with meticulously combed, yet somehow still slightly spiky, flaming red hair. Tiny, ovular glasses perched on the end of his nose, which happened to be about the same color as his roommate's skin. This man's skin was a pale blue, perfectly matching his crisp black suit and red-and-navy striped tie.

The first man's head jerked up violently as the second walked in, the thud of the door having woken him up. "Hiya, Rod!" the man in the chair called, delighted that his friend was finally home. He'd waited all day, really, to see Rod at last. In fact, he waited all day EVERY day. He lived for the evenings when Rod wasn't hard at work, and the two friends could talk and laugh and—most likely—argue. But, he reasoned, arguing with Rod was better than sitting at home with no Rod.

"Hello, Nicky," said Rod stiffly, almost irritably. He was so tired after his day's work—involving a non-cooperative copy machine and several moody, disgruntled investment bankers—that all he wanted was to hurry off to bed, though he knew that even if he threw himself under the covers this very moment, he wouldn't drop off to sleep for hours and hours. The very least he could do would be to flop down in his favorite armchair and read in peace, but here was Nicky, and Nicky was sitting in that very chair.

"So, how was your day?" Nicky asked pleasantly.

"Terrible," barked Rod.

"Aw, buddy, I'm sorry," said Nicky sympathetically. "Anything I can do to help?"

Rod blinked. He knew EXACTLY what would make him feel better, something only Nicky could do. But how could he tell his roommate that he was in love with him, and Nicky could help by loving Rod in return? No, that was good, not at all. Nicky would think him a freak and a looser and promptly move out, hastening to tell everyone he saw just who on Avenue Q was gay. Then where would Rod be, home alone and out of the closet with no one to love?

"Rod?"

Rod paused for a fraction of a second, before replying curtly, "No." He sighed. "And how was your day, Nicky?"

"Terrible," declared Nicky.

"What happened?" asked Rod.

Nicky shrugged. "The usual."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rod suggested kindly.

Nicky blinked. He knew EXACTLY what would make him feel better, something only Rod could do. But how could he tell his roommate that when Rod went to work every day, Nicky sat at home, lonely and bored? How could he ask his friend to quit his job and spend time with him? Where would Nicky be then? The two friends would be together, all right; together living on the streets and foraging for food in dumpsters, since Rod wouldn't be working to pay rent.

"N-Nicky?"

Nicky shook his head defiantly, more to convince himself than Rod. "No, buddy, nothing you can do."

"Oh, okay."

"Yeah."

The two friends paused awkwardly, Rod hovering next to Nicky in his chair, both listening to the television announcer scream that someone had scored a touchdown. Suddenly Nicky thought to grab the remote and switch off the TV. Rod was secretly glad; it had been making his headache even worse. Nicky smiled weakly, and Rod drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair. Nicky started tapping his feet on the floor.

Finally Rod broke the silence by yawning widely. "I had a really tiring day at work," he explained. "I think I might just go to bed now, Nicky." Tossing and turning in an attempt sleep wasn't much better than sitting in silence with Nicky, but at least then there was no way he could give something away. He'd been pointedly avoiding spending too much time with Nicky for days, fearing the moment when he'd slip up and kiss his roommate or something of the sort. Under no circumstances could Nicky find out…

"O-okay, Rod, if that's what you wanna do," said Nicky, wondering how anyone could get to sleep at only five-thirty. He sighed inwardly. It was almost like Rod was trying to avoid him; the two never got any time together anymore. And he had been so looking forward to seeing Rod tonight, too…

"Nicholas?" Rod asked gently, noticing this definite change in his roommate's attitude.

Nicky, despite himself, scowled. "Don't call me that!" he snapped.

Rod took a step back, bewildered. "Well, Nicholas, I only meant—"

"I told you not to call me that!" Frustration at every trouble Nicky was facing, or had ever faced or ever would, seemed to bubble up inside him as he stood up and glared Rod in the eyes. "Why do you call me 'Nicholas'?" He said his own name with contempt leaking from every syllable, in a mocking sort of tone to boot. "'Nicholas.' Hmph. I don't call YOU 'Rodney'!"

"You don't have to be rude about it," said Rod huffily. "All right, I won't call you 'Nicholas,' happy? Sometimes, NICKY"—he made sure to emphasize the word—"you can be so immature!"

"Oh, I can be immature, can I?" cried Nicky. "What about you, huh?"

"Me?"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"W-what?" gasped Rod. Nicky wasn't supposed to know about that… "I don't know what you're t-talking about!"

"Oh, come off it, Rod, you always were a bad liar," Nicky accused. "You're always at work, and when you come home all you do is sleep or read or mope around. You never have any time for me anymore." He glowered at Rod, determined to have his answer.

But now it was Rod's turn to be enraged. "Oh, I see what this is about! I slave away all day to pay the bills you're too lazy to work for yourself, and then of course, that's not good enough, no. I have to be home with my roommate too, because he can't feed or dress or clean up after himself, oh NO!" Rod's face was very red, his hands balled into fists. "I'll have you know that I would MUCH rather be home than at work, but unfortunately someone has to pay the bills, and apparently it's not going to be you!" Rod's eyes narrowed in hatred. Sometimes, Nicky made him so mad… As Christmas Eve said, the more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. But, Rod thought miserably, he couldn't love Nicky, because Nicky wasn't gay; so as much as the signs pointed otherwise, Rod couldn't be gay or Nicky would hate him for real…

Stunned by his friend's speech, Nicky coughed feebly. "Rod, buddy, I—"

"I do not want to talk about it Nicky; this conversation is over."

"Aw, but Rod—"

"OVER!" Rod fumed. "I'm going to bed." And he turned on his heel and stalked off. Nicky didn't know that his fury was from the fact that he couldn't have his love, not that his roommate was annoying him…

Startled by the course their conversation had taken, Nicky sighed and settled into his chair again. Why did everything they said always have to end in an argument? Nicky didn't do well with conflict; he was an easygoing guy that generally got along with everyone, and so it felt strangely unreal every time they fought… "Well, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rod," he mumbled, more to himself than his roommate.

Rod stopped walking abruptly at these words, now in the doorway to his bedroom, and drew in his breath sharply. "That's… that's all right, Nicky. It wasn't your fault."

"I really like spending time with you, but I know your work must be pretty hard. I guess I was just feeling lonely today." Nicky smiled good-naturedly. "Sorry I got all mad and stuff."

Rod was immensely glad his back was to Nicky, so his roommate couldn't see him blush. "I'm sorry I got angry with you. I like spending time with you also." But he wished their time spent together could be used romantically, instead of merely as friends…

"Well, g'night, Rod." Nicky fingered the remote for a moment before switching the TV back on. There was something nagging guiltily at his conscience, telling him that Rod's problems were far more than he could ever begin to imagine, but… he only wished they wouldn't fight so much, only wished that Rod would tell him what was wrong…

"G-good night," said Rod slowly, "N-Nicholas." Nicky couldn't see the tear roll down his cheek, the pain he felt when he was forced to make their relationship platonic… Did Nicky possibly think he LIKED having to avoid him? If Rod had his way, the two of them would be kissing this very moment instead of verbally making up…

Nicky smiled. "All right, you can call me that just this once, okay?" But he didn't feel like smiling. If only there was some way he could make Rod open up… He told himself he would go out tomorrow and get a job to help support himself, but at the same time he knew quite well there was no way he would actually ever do it. But then, it would mean less work for Rod, which would make Rod happy… If only Rod would tell him what was wrong…

"O-okay," said Rod feebly.

There was a pause.

"Is something bothering you, Rod?" Nicky asked suddenly.

"N-no, Nicky, w-why would you ask that? I'm fine," Rod said, trying to convince himself more than his roommate. "F-fine."

"Okay." Nicky didn't believe him for a second, but, as his heart sank, he realized that whatever was bothering Rod, Rod wouldn't trust him to know…

"Anything bothering you, Nicky?" asked Rod casually.

"N-nope," said Nicky instantly. If Rod wouldn't confide in him, then there was no way he was confiding his problems in Rod. But he hated lying, and the two of them had used to be so close…

"Okay," said Rod.

"Okay."

"Good."

"Yeah."

There was another long pause.

"Good night, Nicholas." Still sobbing silently, but still with his back turned so Nicky couldn't see, Rod hurried off into his room to get ready for bed.

"G'night, Rod." Nicky knew there was something Rod wasn't telling him, but this wasn't the time. Despite Nicky's theories, Rod had seemed almost… happy… as he'd gone off to bed, and Nicky didn't want to spoil this with another argument. Rod might be able to be happy when Nicky was sad, but Nicky could never be if Rod wasn't happy…

Rod viciously attacked his pillowcase, punching and slapping and lashing out with all his might, at the same time making it damp and cold with each passing sniffle. The pillow fell lifeless to the floor, pathetic and misshapen and tearstained. Rod stared at it guiltily; what had the pillow ever done to him? It was himself he should be punishing… He was in love with Nicky, but there was no way his roommate would ever return his love, so all he did was complicate what should have been a perfect friendship… Why couldn't he just be like everyone else? Wiping his eyes on his pajama sleeve, Rod whispered, "I'm sorry, Nicky."

Nicky snatched up the remote and stabbed the button to turn off the TV. He stood up briskly and strode over to the window. The only good thing about this apartment was the view of the street below, Nicky had always thought. Watching the cars zoom by past the evening sky was always worth a look… But not now, now they just reminded him of a world where people had money and a job and got along… Not like him and Rod. He was a slacker and a pest and only made Rod's life difficult. Sometimes he almost wished he didn't live with Rod, as all he ever seemed to do was make things worse for his friend… Bowing his head as hot, wet tears sprung up in his eyes, Nicky murmured, "I'm sorry, Rod."

Dusk.


End file.
